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While down the wretched vital part is driv'n! The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a confcience

clear,

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n.

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ELE GY

ON

CAPT. M- H▬▬

A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God!

But now his radiant courfe is run,
For Matthew's courfe was bright;
His foul was like the glorious fun,
A matchlefs Heav'nly Light!

DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody!

The meikle devil wi' a woodie

Haurl

Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,

O'er hurcheon hides,

And like ftock-fifh come o'er his ftuddie

Wi' thy auld fides!

He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, The ae beft fellow e'er was born!

Thee, Matthew, Nature's fel fhall mourn

By wood and wild,

Where, haply, Pity ftrays forlorn,

Frae man exil'd.

Ye hills, near neebors o' the ftarns, That proudly cock your crefting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of failing yearns,

Where Echo flumbers!

Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,

My wailing numbers!

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!

Ye hazly fhaws and briery dens!

Ye

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,

Wi' toddlin din,

Or foaming, ftrang, wi' hafty ftens,

Frae lin to lin.

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee

Ye ftately foxgloves fair to fee;

Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie,

In fcented bow'rs;

Ye roses on your thorny tree,

The firft o' flow'rs.

At dawn, when ev'ry graffy blade Droops with a diamond at his head,

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed,

I' th' rustling gale,

Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,

Come join my wail.

Mourn,

Mourn, ye wee fongfters o' the wood;
Ye groufs that crap the heather bud;
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;

Ye whistling plover;

And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood;

He's gane for ever!

Mourn, footy coots, and fpeckled teals;

Ye fisher herons, watching eels;

Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels

Circling the lake;

Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,

Rair for his fake.

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; And when ye wing your annual way.

Frae our cauld fhore,

Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,

Wham we deplore.

Ye

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